Show Choir Was Never An Option
by Wildlark
Summary: Under a cloud of increasing anti-mutant sentiment, Professor Will Schuester created a club at McKinley High to train young mutants to use their powers for the benefit of humanity, and to prove mutants can be heroes.
1. XDirections

The heavy layer of mist that morning gave the vacant football field an oddly eerie look. The fog was so thick that anyone standing on the freshly-cut grass would not be able to see the giant, square shape that was the main building of McKinley High, which stood a few hundred yards away from the north side of the field. However, there was a smaller, very noticeable figure emerging from that direction, a person with a bright red outfit that was clearly visible on the horizon.

As the figure walked closer, more details could be spotted; it was a woman—and a very tall one at that, at about six-and-a-half feet in height—wearing a red tracksuit and a purple cape that flapped and billowed out behind her in the morning breeze. On her head she wore a rather formidable-looking helmet, painted red and purple to match her outfit; her short blonde hair was kept tightly hidden under it. Around her neck was a silver whistle, while in her hand she held a megaphone. She marched on with her whole body standing up straight and a stern expression on her face, as though she were making sure that anyone that saw her knew she was important, as if they couldn't already tell.

Soon it was clear that the woman was not the only one marching onto the field; behind her loomed a row of figures all dressed in the same bright red, and behind them another row, and behind them another…there were at least a hundred young men and women behind her, all of them wearing tight uniforms the same color as the woman's tracksuit. But instead of wearing capes or helmets, the marching people in uniforms wore plain metal collars around their necks. All of them looked to be in their early to late teens.

The woman and her small army kept marching until all were on the field; they then halted in unison, and their leader did a quick pivot on her heel, turning to face the ones in uniform. Her dark eyes narrowed to catlike slits, and she glanced up and down the rows, glaring at each and every one of the soldiers' faces. However, they all continued to look straight on, not moving an inch, making the football field feel somewhat more eerie than it had been without them.

Suddenly the woman's eyes settled on a young man standing a little to the left of her in the second row. He seemed to be blinking more than the rest of the soldiers, and the woman had noticed him clenching and unclenching his fists several times. Her cold, soulless eyes stared straight into his soft ones for several moments; it was enough to make those standing around the boy to shift ever so slightly away from him, as though they were afraid that the woman could somehow harm them with her stare if they stood too close to the soldier she had rested her gaze on. Then the boy couldn't resist; he gulped, which, in the intensely silent atmosphere, was more than noticeable by everyone there.

And that was that. The woman lifted her arm up at an angle perpendicular to her body, her hand outstretched as though she were trying to grab onto something out of her reach. As her fingers trembled slightly, the metal collar on the boy tightened around his throat, and he collapsed onto the ground, gasping and sputtering for air.

Her lips set in a sneer, the woman briskly walked forward, shoving two soldiers in the front row out of her way so she could get to the boy. She kneeled down and watched with an almost curious expression as he continued to writhe on the ground, trying desperately to breath. When the soldier's pale face began to turn an ugly shade of blue, and his writhing slowly began to die down, the woman lifted her hand again, and the metal collar once again widened to properly fit his throat. The boy took several long gasps of air, both fists clenching the grass so tightly that his knuckles were white.

The woman leaned forward and whispered into the boy's ear, so quietly that only he could hear, "Have you learned your lesson, Hank?"

"Y-yes, Ma-Mag-Magneto," the boy answered between desperate breaths. "D-don't stray out of fa-fa-formation."

"There's a good boy. Now, up, soldier." Magneto stood up and roughly kicked Hank's shoulder; the boy groaned in pain, but after a moment he managed to pick himself up off the ground and stand in the same formal position as the rest of the soldiers.

Magneto was now at the front of the army once more, and was addressing all of them using her megaphone—not that she needed it, as her voice was naturally loud and booming. "I am aware that all of you just got back from your so-called summer vacation, but that doesn't excuse lazy behavior while practicing standard Cheerio exercises. All of you seem to have forgotten that you are not only McKinley High's cheerleading squad—you are also the school's team of defenders if it were ever to come under harm. I'm sure all of you have heard what they've been saying on the news, about what the government's been predicting about mutants. For all we know, there can be an uprising any day now that could reach the small population of mutants at this school—our own so-called allies could turn on us at any minute!

"That is why we must always keep a state of fear and intimidation at McKinley. If certain students and faculty such as the mutants were to ever grow more confident, they wouldn't hesitate to use whatever abilities they have to torture and torment all of us. That is your main job, Cheerios, and don't you ever forget it. And if any of you think this is hard?" She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, then, try being water-boarded—now that's hard!"

...

Professor William Charles Francis Schuester was a man of many talents. For starters, he was McKinley High's Spanish teacher, a position that he had kept consistently for five years now and was quite happy with and skilled at. Not only was he fluent in the language and knew a lot about the culture that came with it, he was an expert when it came to interacting with his pupils and getting them interesting in the subject. Most of his students passed his course with flying colors. Well, most of them—but the ones that didn't usually were the ones that didn't see the learning aspect school as important in the slightest, being too focused on the football team or the Cheerios or some other extracurricular activity that McKinley had to offer.

Besides teaching Spanish, Professor Schuester had stayed on good terms with McKinley High's principal, known by everyone as Figgins, for all five years of his career teaching there. He was respected by the students (most of them), well-liked by the faculty and staff (most of them), and managed to avoid of the wrath of the cheerleading coach Sue Erika Sylvester, known by the students as her self-proclaimed identity Magneto. Well, by avoided, he meant he didn't get sabotaged by her in some cruel, despicable way at least once a week like most of the other teachers did.

And then there was the whole mine-reading thing, but Will saw that as less of a talent and more of a liability. He had known he was a telepath since the age of twelve and had spent every waking moment as a teen trying to control his ability. While the act of getting to read other people's thoughts and using those thoughts to manipulate them had sounded interesting to him at first, he soon learned how difficult it was to control his powers; he could never focus on one person's mind at a time when he was in a room with more than one person besides himself. Instead, he heard every person's thoughts, every single one of them, to the point where he either had to close off his powers or be forced to constantly have the noise of people's private musings stirring in his ear. Besides, even when he was teen, he knew what the general population's opinion on mutants was. And that was what he was: a mutant, whether he liked it or not. So instead of trying to train himself to control his powers like other mutants did, he took the other, easier route: forget he even had them. He hadn't read a single mind in nearly fifteen years.

But he was happier this way, living a normal life, driving his beat-up, rusty car to work at seven-thirty in the morning, his mind focused on nothing but grading Spanish tests and reminding Finn Hudson to turn in his essay. This was the good life.

Luckily, Will realized, he wouldn't have to wait too long to talk to Finn; as he pulled into the school parking lot, he saw the very tall, black-haired sophomore and a bunch of his friends from the football team hanging around one of the dumpsters, chatting with another one of Will's students, a boy named Kurt Hummel. The young professor smiled, glad that Kurt was starting the first few weeks of school off right by making some new friends. He knew it was a difficult thing for Kurt to do for two reasons: one, he had an obsession with fashion designers and hair and skin care, much more than most boys his age and even most girls, and two, he happened to be a mutant. It had been fairly obvious right from the start of freshman year, when everyone in his gym class noticed how he could outrun the other kids by miles, or jump so high and so far that it looked like was flying. Turns out that he had tougher skin that most humans and could fly at 99% of the speed of light—who would've guessed?

At the moment, Kurt was wearing black skinny jeans and a black and white jacket with a blue bursting star stitched onto the side; it looked like he had sown it on himself. Finn and the others were wearing their customary red football jackets with "MCKINLEY" on the front in big white letters. Will couldn't help but think of the "Red vs. Blue" web series that had been a brief obsession among the school's male students last year. Maybe Kurt and the football players were trying to reenact it.

"Making some new friends, Kurt?" asked Will, walking over and patting the boy's shoulder.

"Please, don't touch the jacket," he mumbled, one hand reaching up and lightly pushing Will's hand off.

"Kurt, your hand is shaking," said Will, his brown eyes narrowing in concern. "Are you cold? The weather isn't even that bad, we haven't had a perfect day like this since—"

"Professor Schue, don't you have to get to class early?" asked one of the football players, a heavily-built kid with a short mohawk that ran along his head like a shark's fin. Will knew who he was; his name was Noah Puckerman, though everyone, students and teachers alike, referred to him as Puck. He was one of the biggest troublemakers at McKinley, or even the whole town of Lima, Ohio, but he seemed to friends with everyone in the school—everyone that was on a sports team or a Cheerio, that is.

"Yeah, Professor, it's kinda weird having a conversation with each other when there's a teacher around, you know?" added Finn. The rest of the football team nodded and murmured in agreement, though that could just be because Finn was the captain of the team. Kurt merely looked down at the ground, his face more pale than ever.

"Don't worry, I get it, you guys," said Will, his eyes still trained on Kurt as he slowly began to walk towards the main building. "And Finn, that report needs to be turned in by the end of this week, no exceptions."

"Almost done with almost all of it, Professor," stammered Finn. Even without his telepathic abilities, Will could tell Finn was lying.

...

"It's hammer time!" said Puck when the professor was out of earshot, a wide grin on his face as he and Matt, another member of the team, picked Kurt up—Puck with his arms wrapped around Kurt's shoulders, and Matt roughly lifting the boy by his ankles.

"Please, don't!" pleaded Kurt. "This jacket is from Marc Jacob's new collection."

"Is it _really_?" asked Matt in an over-dramatic tone. The other football players guffawed in laughter.

"With some little touches added by myself," added Kurt, flipping a strand of his light brown hair out of his face. "But please, you don't understand, I can't ruin this jacket—"

"Take it off, then," said Finn.

The rest of his team stared at him.

"Here, just let him take off his jacket," repeated Finn. "I'll hold it for him."

Puck and Matt hesitantly set Kurt down. The boy quickly pulled off his jacket, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath, and shoved it roughly into Finn's arms.

"Thanks for ruining my outfit," muttered Kurt in disgust.

"Okay, you can do it now," said Finn, nodding towards the two football players.

With that, they picked Kurt up again and unceremoniously threw him into the dumpster.

...

Will was in the main hall of the school now, but something had stopped him on the way to his classroom. Whenever he walked by the awards cabinet every morning when he came to McKinley and every afternoon when he left, he had never noticed a particular trophy that stood there, along with a photograph of Lillian Adler, a person he had know well back in his high school days at McKinley.

But this morning, for some reason, he did notice such things, and as the students walked back and forth past him on their way to class, he stood in front of the cabinet on his eyes on the trophy won at the 1993 Show Choir National Championship. The show choir (or Glee Club, as it was otherwise called) that he had been a part of. The championship that he had helped win.

The picture of Ms. Adler, the faculty supervisor for the Glee Club that year, resided on a plaque next to the trophy. Below the photograph was her birth and death dates…wait, death date? According to the plaque, she had passed away in 1997. Twelve years had passed, and this was the first time Will had heard that she died. Of course, it did make sense—she was getting up there in her years back when Will was in the Glee Club, and he remembered that she was walking with a cane when they went to the National championships in New York. That was the last time Will ever saw her, and ever would see her.

A little upset by this new discovery, the professor looked at what was engraved below the dates and couldn't help but smile. It was Lillian Adler's signature phrase: "By its very definition, Glee is about opening yourself up to joy." Will couldn't have said it any better, because Glee Club—at least the way Ms. Adler taught it—was much more than just singing show tunes and dancing around on a stage. It was about acceptance, believing in yourself…

Back then, Will had hope that he'd be able to control his mutant powers, after meeting other mutants in Glee Club who had knew how to properly use their abilities. But after he graduated, married Terri (his girlfriend since he was 16 and a former cheerleader at McKinley, but before Magneto moved in and created the Cheerios), and got a job as an accountant, he had once again felt alone and decided to give up. Even after he quit his job at the bank and began teaching, once again being introduced to mutants who were in the same position that he was in high school, he still thought it was too late and too much useless work to try and become an expert telepath.

What was the point in it, anyway? Terri and Ms. Adler were the only people in the world who knew he had the ability to read minds, and he wanted it to stay that way. He was lucky; he had a power that could easily be hidden, one that he didn't have to use, one that wasn't visible to everyone around him. Many of the mutant students at McKinley High didn't have that liberty, but the truth was, he was too afraid to out himself as a mutant and try to help them. To him, it was more trouble than it was worth.

...

"_Como esta usted?_" said Professor Schuester. "_Yo me llamo Guiermo._"

"_Como esta usted, yo me llamo Guiermo,_" Finn recited lazily along with the rest of the Spanish class. He hated having Spanish first thing in the morning. True, it was his most interesting class, but that wasn't saying much, seeing as he thought all his other classes and teachers sucked. Mostly he hated having to recite Spanish phrases over and over again when it felt like he just rolled out of bed a few minutes ago.

His eyes were drawn to the clock on the wall, and he tapped his pencil rapidly on his desk, as though that would make this period go by faster. Today, he especially didn't want to study Spanish because he had other more important things on his mind. It had happened again yesterday while playing COD; this weird red light flashed for a split second, blocking his vision, and when he could see again, there was a simmering hole in the middle of his television screen. He had had to explain to his mother that he had thrown his controller at the TV in frustration at not winning a level. She wasn't too happy with him, and she wasn't going to go out and buy a whole new TV set, which meant no video games for quite a while.

The same thing had happened several times now, the first being around the end of freshman year. While he was cleaning out his locker in the changing room, the red light had flashed, and when it was gone, he noticed a small hole, about an inch in diameter, that had burned right through the metal door. Four months later, and he was still trying to figure out what was going on. He did remember that, a few seconds before the red light flashed, he felt this burning feeling in his eyes. Did that mean that…no, that was impossible. If Finn turned out to be…one of them, wouldn't he had known by now? He was already 16, and nothing like this had ever happened to him before.

And then he felt it again, just now: the burning feeling in his eyes. Only this time, it was more intense than ever before. Before he could react, the red light blocked his vision, for just a second. When it was gone, Finn gasped; the spot on the whiteboard that he had been staring at now had a gaping hole in it, much bigger and more noticeable than the tiny one that had been burned into the door of his locker.

Finn was aware that every pair of eyes in the room was staring at him now, and he quickly looked down at his notebook, not sure what to do or say. Professor Schuester had stopped reciting Spanish and was now looking back and forth between Finn and the hole in the whiteboard.

"What just happened?" asked Professor Schue.

"Don't know," answered Mike Chang, who was seated to Finn's right. "I was looking down at my notes when I saw this red light flash near Finn. I looked over and saw he was staring at the whiteboard, and then I noticed there was a hole burned in it."

The other students nodded in agreement. Finn sighed in relief; so no one had actually seen him do anything to the whiteboard.

"Finn, I'd like to see you after class," said Professor Schuester.

"Yes, sir," murmured Finn.

When the bell rang and all the other students filed out of the classroom, Finn walked up to the professor, who was seated at his desk. "Professor, I'm so sorry—"

"Look, Finn, all I want is an explanation," interrupted Professor Schuester. "I was looking down at the textbook for more exercises, and when I looked up, there was a searing hole in the whiteboard and everyone was staring at you."

"It…it's this little toy I got at the joke shop in town," said Finn. "It's this little red ball that lights up when you throw it, and when it hits something, it's supposed to create a little crater or…or something like that."

"Well, I can't honestly say that's the worst prank I've seen at this school, what with all that Puck's done," said the professor. "However, I don't usually expect this sort of thing from you. I'll let you off with a warning, and you'll need to pay at least partially for the damages you did to my whiteboard, but please don't try something like this again, okay?"

"Don't worry, Professor Schue, I won't!" shouted Finn, racing out into the hall so he could get to his next class on time.

...

After Lillian Adler passed away and the members who won the National Championship of '93 graduated, the Glee Club slowly declined until it was a shell of its former self. It never managed to acquire more than five members at a time, and currently it was run by Sandy Ryerson, who gave nearly the entire student body the creeps.

And for good reason, as Rachel Berry could attest to. The Glee Club member stood outside of the choir room, peeking through the crack in the door and watching as Mr. Ryerson practiced the solo for their next number with Hank, a Cheerio who had joined the Glee Club as punishment for repeatedly breaking out of ranks during Magneto's repeated marching routines. On the first day that Hank attended rehearsals, Mr. Ryerson had given him the solo, and Rachel knew it wasn't because Hank was talented; he could barely carry a quarter note and he was always off-key. Besides, Rachel was always given the solos, due to her superior talent over everyone else in the club. At least, that was how she saw it.

So here Rachel was, eavesdropping on Mr. Ryerson and Hank to figure out the real reason why the boy had gotten the solo. Just as she suspected him to do, Mr. Ryerson slowly twirled off his pink scarf with his free hand that wasn't playing the piano. His hand then crept slowly towards Hank's chest. For Rachel, that was enough evidence; in rage, she caused a small flame, like that on a candle, to appear on the palm of her hand, which she quickly extinguished with a clench of her fists. Being a mutant could be tricky sometimes. Brushing off the resulting soot and ash on her skirt, she stormed down the hallways towards Principal Figgins's office.

...

"Hey, where's the coffee pot?" asked Will. After second period, he always headed over to the teacher's lounge to get some coffee, but without a coffee pot, that would be downright impossible.

"Figgins cut the coffee budget." Will looked behind him to see Ken Tanaka, McKinley's football coach and a great beast of a man whose shorts were even shorter than his temper. "I say we go on strike."

"That won't be necessary." Just then Magneto walked into the lounge, carrying four Starbucks lattes with her.

Ken raced towards her like a wild animal, grabbing a latte for himself before seating himself at one of the tables. Will followed behind him, taking a cup and noticing that there was one other person at the table Ken was seated at: Emma Pillsbury, the school guidance counselor. Her short ginger hair and cute pink sweater were easily recognizable, as were her huge brown eyes that reminded Will of a doe.

"Oh, hi, Will!" greeted Emma cheerfully, waving one of her plastic-gloved hands at him. It looked like she was going to eat an early lunch, as she had a bag of grapes in front of her and was scrubbing the table with her other gloved hand. There was no denying that the woman was a neat freak.

"Hey, there, Emma," said Will, smiling at her as he sat down next to Ken. "God, I can't believe it's only Monday. How was your weekend?"

"Alright, I suppose," she answered, trying to scratch off a spot on the table. "But a pipe exploded in my apartment building, it was awful."

"Ah, so that's why I didn't see you at the meat market," said Ken.

"Yes, that would be why," said Emma, frowning. "Though to be honest, those places aren't that great, you know? It's very unclean and dirty and messy and…" She shivered and went back to her cleaning. "Also, Sue, what's with all the lattes?"

"First of all, address me by Magneto," the tall cheerleading coach said coldly. "At least whenever I have the helmet on. Which is now. And always. Second of all, I brought the lattes because I just felt so awful that Figgins cut the coffee budget to pay for a nutritionist for the Cheerios."

"Yeah, I heard you went, oh, I don't know, six hundred dollars over budget with that, didn't you?" said Emma, her cheerfulness dripping with sarcasm.

"My performers didn't get on Fox Sports Net last year because they ate at Bacon Junction," snarled Magneto.

"Since when are cheerleaders also considered performers?" asked Emma.

There was a deadly silence in the lounge.

"Your resentment…is delicious," Magneto hissed, before leaving the room, most likely to plan another strenuous routine for her cheerleaders. No, _performers_.

"Well, that was intense," said Will.

"Indeed," muttered Ken.

"Oh, I almost forgot: did you two hear that Sandy Ryerson got fired?" asked Emma.

"He did?" said Will, shocked. "When?"

"Just a few minutes ago," answered Emma. "Figgins's office is right next to mine. I heard the whole conversation. That short obnoxious girl, Rachel Berry—you know who I'm talking about, she's a mutant—she accused Sandy of inappropriately touching one of the students. And then Figgins called him into his office, and he got fired. And that was that."

"But…but who's going to take over Glee Club?" asked Will.

"Don't know," murmured Emma. "It's all rather unfortunate—a lot of the kids in that club were mutants. It was sort of what they all considered their safe place, I guess. Even if none of them could sing particularly well, they were all accepted there."

An idea was forming in Will's head, one that he would later think to be crazy, borderline insanity, even. But at the time, it made all the sense in the world.

...

"I'd like to take over Glee Club," said Will.

"Would you like to captain the _Titanic_, too?" asked Principal Figgins dryly.

"I think I can make it great again," the professor explained, trying to ignore the weird smell that was in the principal's office. "There is no joy in any of these kids, they feel invisible. That's why everyone of them has a MySpace page."

"MySpace?" repeated Figgins in exasperation. "C'mon, Will, MySpace is dead! Facebook is all the rage now. Even I know that!"

"Whatever," groaned Will. "Just tell me if it's okay to get the club rolling again. It can't be that hard, can it?"

"Sixty bucks a month," said Figgins. "That's how much I need to keep this program running."

"And you expect me to pay for it?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to pay for it. We're not talking about Cheerios here, Will. They were on Fox Sports Net last year! Once the show choir starts bringing that kind of prestige to the school again, you can have all the money you want. Until then, I need sixty bucks a month, and you've got to use the costumes and props we have already. Oh, but we need the stools for woodshop."

That night, Will laid awake in his bed, trying to figure out how to convince his wife Terri to pay sixty dollars a month for the Glee Club. However, he knew he had even bigger problems; if he was going to bring the show choir back to its glory days, he needed to get the students at McKinley motivated. This was now about more than just the singing and dancing aspect; there were mutants at McKinley who needed help, and whether Will considered himself to be one of them or not, he knew he hadn't done his best in assisting them. How he was going to help them, exactly…that he couldn't tell. One thing was for sure: they needed a new name. But what sort of name would fit…

"New Directions!" he whispered excitedly…before quickly realizing how dirty the name sounded.


	2. The Danger Room

"So, could you tell me a little bit more about yourselves?" asked Will, gesturing to the five students that currently occupied his office. This small, rag-tag bunch of misfits—all of them mutants, in fact—was the beginning of New Directions, and he wanted to make sure he got to know more about all of them.

"My name is Mercedes Jones," said the girl leaning against one of the office walls. Will already knew Mercedes well; she was a short black girl, a little on the chubby side, but with a fierce look in her eye that said she wasn't to be messed with. And she had one hell of a voice. In other words, she was a classic diva, and it was for this reason that Will let her continue to introduce herself to him.

"I wasn't too fond of Mr. R, so I never was in the Glee Club when he taught it," said Mercedes. "But I've always loved to sing, and not to brag, but I think I'm pretty fly when it comes to belting out high notes. Plus I heard y'all were mutants, too, so I thought I'd fit in. See, whenever I touch someone, their memories and skills get absorbed into me, and it can be pretty damn annoying when I just want to hold hands with someone. I've learned to kinda control my powers, but I can never let my guard down about it. So I was hoping that some of you would be cool with me learning to control my powers by practicing with you."

"Oh, Mercedes, don't you fret about that," Kurt reassured her, crossing his legs while seated in one of Will's chairs. "I'd be happy to practice with you. I've always found other mutant powers fascinating. I, unfortunately, was born with some of the most generic powers in existence—super speed and flying, what's the fun in that?"

"Personally, I'd give anything to fly," interjected Will.

"Yeah, well, you're not a mutant, Professor Schue," said Kurt bitterly. "You don't know what it's like, having to live with these powers and trying to control them."

It took all of the professor's willpower to tell the kids the truth right then and there. But no, that would have to wait. He had barely talked to most of these kids.

"Anyways, I'm Kurt Hummel, for those of you who don't know," Kurt continued. "My life is based around fashion, so don't go calling me out for the odd things I wear to school everyday—get used to it. Also, due to my countertenor voice, I generally prefer to perform songs traditionally sung by women, and I especially love solos. So watch out, ladies," he added, winking to the other students in the room, of which there was only one other boy.

"Artie, you're next," said Will.

"Hey, I'm Artie Abrams," said the boy, waving shyly to everyone else. Out of all the students at McKinley, Artie had the most…interesting of appearances. For one thing, he was a very tall, very bulky guy; he could have been a great football player…if he wasn't paralyzed from the waist down and wheelchair-bound. To top that off, he was covered head to toe in bluish-gray fur, and his face was animalistic, to say the least. He had small cat-like ears, yellow eyes behind rather nerdy glasses, and teeth like that on a gorilla.

"As you can see, I'm a little…odd-looking," he continued, "and dancing is a little difficult for me, but that doesn't mean I can't sing. Singing is what's helped me get over being like this, and I think glee club will make it even better. I know every Michael Jackson song by heart, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here who can rap—"

"Not quite," said Will, smiling cheekily.

"—and I can bust some sweet moves in this chair, even if it might not go along well with whatever other routines Mr. Schue plans out for us."

"Fantastic, Artie. And what about you, Tina?"

"I-I have a st-st-stutter," said the girl standing in one of the corners of the room.

"And what else?"

"I'm Asian."

"And what else?"

"I like wearing b-b-black clothes and g-g-goth makeup."

"Tina, I'm asking what you could contribute to New Directions," said Will, ignoring Mercedes's snicker. "Or what you hope to get out of the experience of being in show choir."

"I want my p-power to be c-c-c-cool," stammered Tina.

"And may I ask what your power is?" said Kurt coldly. "It can't be any worse than flying, trust me."

"Oh yes it c-c-can." Tina raised her hands, and everyone else instinctively ducked and put their arms over their heads. But the pinkish-purple charged bursts that shot out of the girl's palms simply sputtered whizzed around the room before evaporating into thin air.

"You see how u-useless it is?" she asked, leaning back up against the walls.

"At least we know who can organize the firework show at the next Fourth of July celebration," said Kurt, nervously giggling.

"Seems as though there's only one other person to introduce," said Will. "Rachel, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Professor," said the last student perkily, standing up from her chair, though she was the shortest person there, so it didn't make much of a difference. Coughing and "ahem"-ing before she began, she flipped her dark hair behind her shoulders and smoothed out her black 50s-style poodle skirt, which was paired with a red hand-knit sweater with a reindeer on it.

"Here we go," grumbled Mercedes.

"My name is Rachel Jean Berry," the girl said with a smile. "I'm 15 years old, I'm a sophomore at McKinley High School, I'm Jewish, I'm a mutant, and I'm eager to show you all my amazing talent as part of New Directions!"

"I'm pretty sure we all knew that, Rachel," said Artie.

"You might have noticed that on the sign-up sheet," she continued, ignoring the boy, "I signed my name with a gold star. You might laugh at that, but it's a metaphor, and metaphors are important. My gold stars are a metaphor for me being a star."

"D-d-d-didn't you get sl-slushied in the face by P-P-Puck after you signed up?" asked Tina. "I s-saw it happen—"

"And I would like to clear up that hateful rumor that I was the one who turned that closet-case Sandy Ryerson in for molestation because he gave Hank Saunders the solo I deserved," Rachel pressed on. "That's BS—pardon my language, Professor."

"And I would like to make it clear that I saw you, with my own eyes, go into Figgins's office the day Mr. Ryerson got fired," said Kurt dryly. "You were stage-crying. I could tell from several years of drama class."

"Anyways," she said loudly, "I am not homophobic. In fact, I have two gay dads. You see, I was born out of love. My dads screened potential surrogates based on beauty and IQ. Then they mixed their sperm together and used a turkey baster. To this day we don't know who my real dad is, which I think is pretty neat."

"I'd find it a little creepy," said Mercedes.

"My dads spoiled me in the arts—dance lessons, vocal coaches, anything to give me a competitive edge. They even encouraged me to practice my mutant powers and accepted my differences just as much as I accepted theirs."

"What would your mutant powers be, Rachel?" asked Will.

"Telepathy and telekinesis," she answered. "And under certain conditions, I also don't need oxygen to live and I can survive drastic temperatures on my own, which means I can go into space or underwater for long periods of time without the use of equipment. It also helps with my singing ability, as I can hold long, powerful notes for a good amount of time. Oh, and I can control fire—to some extent. Again, it's only under certain conditions."

"Next you'll tell us you can manipulate any type of energy, or you can resurrect the dead," said Kurt.

"I can do both, under certain conditions."

For once, the snarky boy was speechless. In fact, everyone was, save for Mercedes's soft "Damn…" that Will didn't even reprimand her for.

"So those videos that you post on MySpace of you controlling all that fire aren't actually made from special effects?" asked Artie.

"No, much as the Cheerios would lead you to believe, with their harsh comments on those particular videos," answered Rachel bitterly. "Not only do they comment on how much it looks like special effects, they also post on my singing videos on how I should get sterilized, or how they only joined MySpace so they could write mean comments to me because otherwise it's a lame site to them, or—"

"Rachel, I think we've heard enough," interrupted Will. "I'm interested in learning more about your powers, as well as everyone else's. Right now, I suggest we head down to the choir room and start rehearsals."

...

Unlocking the door to the choir room eagerly, the professor and his five pupils stepped into the room that would be the home of New Directions. Three rows of chairs stood on a series of short steps against the back wall, which was painted beige like the others in the room, not to mention nearly all the walls in the entire school. Against one of the side walls stood a trophy cabinet filled with awards from the golden days of glee club, and right next to it was a door leading to a closet. On the other side wall stood a large bookshelf filled with yearbooks, spare textbooks, and various books on music theory as well as songbooks. In the front of the room were another large bookshelf, a whiteboard, and a grand piano.

"Home sweet home," said Rachel cheerfully.

"Huh, I'm still a little unsure about the place," said Kurt, glancing around the room. "Say, pass me a chair, will you?"

"Can't you just walk up and seat yourself?" asked Rachel, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but you're already beginning to annoy me, so it's best you do what I say so you don't get on my bad side," the boy replied. "Besides, you said you know telekinesis—I want to see you move one of those chairs without touching it."

Rachel seemed to brighten up at the idea of showing off her powers. Without hesitation, she began focusing intently on one of the chairs, and in a second it floated down from the highest step onto the main floor and slid across the room towards Kurt. Unfortunately, Rachel seemed to misjudge where she was directing the chair, because instead of stopping, it slammed right into Kurt's legs and knocked him off his feet.

Will and the other three kids gasped in unison as Kurt got to his feet, a sour expression on his face. "What did you do that for?"

"It wasn't on purpose—"

"Learn to control your powers before you hurt someone!" he yelled, moving as if preparing to charge at full speed—99% of the speed of light for him—into the girl.

"Hey, stop this!" Will stood in between them and held up his hand in front of Kurt. "You guys are going to have to learn to tolerate each other, or otherwise this isn't going to be any fun. Got it?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "As long as she doesn't hit me with a chair again, I'm good."

"I'll be sure not to," said Rachel bitterly.

"Good," said the professor. "Now, I'll let you guys look around. I'm going to see what's in this closet."

As the students began exploring what was on the bookshelves, Will twisted the knob on the closet door and found that it was unlocked. Stepping inside, he looked around, expecting to see instruments or more books. Instead he found a giant room the size of a warehouse, filled with all sorts of gadgets and gizmos that seemed to come out of a science fiction novel—more specifically, what the military would use to train in a science fiction novel. There was what looked like some sort of control console the shape of a pinball machine, covered in buttons and switches, with two twelve-foot-long metal wires sticking out from the top of it, one horizontally and one vertically. There were holes in the ground that smelled of gas; Will had seen things like that on a stage where his cousin's band played, and fire shot out of them during the show. There was what looked like a huge fan with sharp blades sticking out like knives. Looking up, the professor could see metal blocks hanging from the ceiling by metal cables; he got the scary feeling that they were going to land on top of him.

Not to mention the jet. Yes, there was a jet the size of a fighter aircraft parked in the room.

Vaguely wondering how such a huge room stayed hidden in a school all this time, Will's eyes wandered along the various shelves that lined the room—containing smaller gadgets and gizmos—until he spotted a rather odd-looking device, one that looked strange even among the other machines in the room. It looked, frankly, like an upside-down transparent salad bowl with a bunch of wires coming out of it; these wires were connected to the walls of the room and—Will noticed as he followed them with his eyes—ran all along around the walls of the room, before going up and disappearing into the ceiling.

Gingerly lifting up the device, he felt a pulsating energy coming from it. It wasn't just electricity; it was something else, some other strange, unfamiliar power. A little frightened by it, Will went to put the machine back down and noticed that it had been resting on top of an envelope…which read "Will Schuester" on it. As if things couldn't get even freakier.

Setting the weird salad bowl down on the shelf again, Will picked up the envelope and cautiously opened it, taking out the piece of paper inside and unfolding it to read what it had to say:

Dear Will,

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Sincerely, Lillian Adler

He stared at the blank letter, unsure if this was some sort of joke or not. Why was there nothing on the page? What did Ms. Adler have to say to him? And what was a letter to him from a person that had been dead for more than a decade doing in this place?

But he realized he didn't have much time to consider it. From far away across the room, back through the door to the choir room (and reality, because this certainly had to all be part of his imagination), he could hear more quarreling and bickering than before. Folding up the paper and slipping it in his pants pocket, he hurried back across the giant room and through the door.

"Don't lie to me!" Mercedes was shouting at Artie. "I saw you dropped that book on my foot, and I know everyone else did!"

"Even if it was me, I would never do anything like that on purpose," said Artie calmly.

"Look, just because you can't feel anything in your feet—"

"Hey, watch it," he growled, an actual animal-like snarl rising in his throat.

"Look here, all of you," ordered Will. "This isn't a closet. Come look here—but don't tell anyone outside of glee club what you see."

...

"I knew it," said Rachel, her eyes narrowed as she glanced around the giant room along with the other students. "I knew you wouldn't understand, Professor."

"What? Rachel, please explain to me—"

"You don't understand how long I've waited to actually show off my powers!" she said exasperatedly. She'd been waiting to tell someone this for a long time and had never gotten the chance to do so until now. "Everyone thinks I'm some sort of freak because of them. And now you come across this room, which would be a perfect opportunity for me—for all of us—to train and practice using our powers so that people will see me—us—as useful people instead of outcasts. I just proposed this wonderful idea to you, and yet you're saying we can't train in here?"

"Rachel, I don't even think that is the purpose of this room," said Professor Schuester. "For all we know, this could be some sort of top-secret military base that we're not allowed it. These machines could be used for torture."

"Professor, if this were a military base, there's not a chance in hell we would be able to get in here. And why would it be in a school? And why would it someone be invisible from the outside when it's just as big as the gym, if not bigger?"

"N-n-none of us know, Rachel," piped up Tina, the others nodding in agreement.

"Guys, don't you want to prove that your powers aren't a burden to you?" asked Rachel. "That you can be heroes?"

"No, all we want to do is blend in with the non-mutants," explained Artie. "Be normal for a change. You think trying to use our powers more often will make things better? That'll just make things worse. We signed up for glee club, Rachel, not the Mutant Training Academy."

The other students snickered a little at that, as though they thought it was ridiculous that such a place would exist.

"Fine!" said Rachel. "Then I quit! I won't be able to stand rehearsals knowing that just behind that door is my gateway to actually being liked for who I am."

She turned on her heel and sprinted out of the giant room, through the choir room, down the halls…she had no idea where she was going, but all she wanted was to escape.

Eventually she found herself outside sitting in the stands, watching the Cheerios practice their routine on the football field. Since it was autumn, the late afternoon sun was already beginning to set, casting eerie shadows on the performers as their marching routine was once again halted by Sue yelling at one of them for stepping out of line. Thankfully it wasn't Hank; Rachel had begun to feel a little sorry for the poor guy constantly being choked to death for stepping out of ranks, even if she did hate him for stealing her solo.

She tried not to pay attention when, a few minutes later, Professor Schuester appeared at the foot of the stands and climbed up, sitting down beside her. But she couldn't keep herself quiet.

"Look, I just…" she began. "I saw what was in the room and immediately thought about all of those superhero and supervillain caves, you know? Like the Bat Cave? All those ones you see in the comics and sci-fi movies. Or fantasy movies. I mean, the kids in Narnia didn't just stay in their world when they found an alternate universe in the upstairs wardrobe. They went in and ended up becoming kings and queens."

"The world of superheroes is much more accepting than our own, Rachel," said the professor, smiling a little. "Crime-fighters run around in colorful costumes and no one bothers to remark how stupid they look."

"True," she said, but didn't smile back.

Professor Schue sighed. "You're the best kid in there, Rachel, in terms of your abilities. It also means you're the most noticeable. It comes with a price."

"Professor, I know I'm just a sophomore," said Rachel with desperation in her voice, "but I can feel the clock ticking away and I don't want to leave high school with nothing to show for it."

"You get great grades, you're a fantastic singer…"

"Everyone hates me."

"And you think becoming some sort of superhero is going to change that?"

"Being a part of something great will change that. Being a part of something special makes you special, right?"

He didn't answer her, instead looking down at his shoes.

"I need someone to help me control my powers, at the very least," she continued. "Practicing on my own all these years can only do so much. I don't want to knock people over with chairs or worse. I could burn down a building if I don't learn how to keep any fires I create under control."

"The others did seem interested in each others' powers when they introduced themselves. Maybe we can have some sort of show-and-tell—"

"Look, Professor Schue, I really appreciate what you're trying to do, but if you can't give me what I need, then I'm sorry. I'll stay in glee club, but only if things change. I can't keep wasting my time there when I know I can do something greater. It hurts too much."

"You're suggesting I change the entire purpose of the club just because we basically found Narnia in the choir room closet."

"Exactly."

Just then, Coach Tanaka pulled up to the stands in his golf cart. "Hey, Schuester, I was looking for you! Figgins wants you!"

"I'll talk to you later, Rachel." The professor patted her shoulder before descending the stands and heading back towards the main school building. Rachel watched him go before closing her eyes and sending a telepathic message to Leroy, one of her fathers: I'll be home soon, I was talking to the professor after rehearsals had ended.


	3. The Awkward Laser Beam

"But we just had our first rehearsal," protested Will.

"My hands are tied, Schue," said Figgins, punching more numbers into his calculator. "Alcoholics Anonymous wants to rent out the choir room and the auditorium for their afternoon meetings. There're a lot of drunks in this town…and they're paying me ten bucks a head!"

"If we show at Regionals, the club stays," said Will, determined not to let anyone near the giant room he had found as well as protect the club. "If not, the bar's open in the choir room."

"What is it with you and this club?" asked Figgins, narrowing his eyes. "You've got only five kids—one of them's a crippled monkey!"

"Then I guess you've got nothing to worry about," said Will smugly.

The two men glared at each other. After a moment, the principal sighed. "Fine," he said reluctantly.

"Yes," murmured Will to himself, taking a moment to do a fist-pump.

"But you're running detention for free to make it up to me."

His happiness cut short a bit, Will stammered, "Uh…um…deal. It's a deal."

…

Will always felt a little out-of-place whenever he went to bring his wife lunch at the store Sheets and Things where she worked, especially when he was stressed out about something he was going to tell her. It was the day after his meeting with Figgins, and he was dreading the job of monitoring after-school detention…but even more so, he was dreading his wife's reaction to the deal he had made. Maneuvering his way through the neat rows of home appliances and bath towels that seemed to go on for miles, he finally found Terri talking to one of her co-workers, Howard. She appeared to be showing him how to fold a sheet.

"You just put your hands in the corners like this," she explained to him, demonstrating with the green bed sheet she was holding.

"I can't do it," whimpered Howard. "I'm dyslexic. Maybe I should just stick to towels and washcloths—"

"Howard, if you can't fold a fitted sheet, you can not work at Sheets and Things," said Terri irritably.

Over the loud speaker, someone announced that a customer was trying to return a bed sheet. Terri nodded towards the front of the store, indicating that Howard should go assist them.

"And make sure they have a receipt," she added as he left.

"Someone looks beautiful today," said Will, smiling and walking up to her.

"Oh, hi there, handsome." Terri kissed him, then looked curiously at the paper bag he was holding.

"Roast beef and pumpernickel," Will explained. "Your favorite."

"Wait…does it have mayo in it?" asked Terri.

"Um, yeah," said Will, confused as to why she seemed concerned about that.

"Will, if my diabetes comes back, I can't get pregnant," said Terri.

"I…" Will looked down at his feet.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Well, see, I was going to tell you that I'm gonna have to start working late for…a couple of months. I'm running after-school detention—"

"Wait, what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I had to make a deal with Figgins, so he wouldn't cut the glee club."

"But, Will, I'm on my feet four hours a day, three times a week here," said Terri, pouting. "Now I have to go home and cook dinner for myself?"

Just then, Howard came back, holding a sheet with a large stain on it. "The customer wants to return this sheet, but something tells me we've got another bed wetter."

Terri groaned in frustration and turned to Will. "You see what I have to deal with here?" She then followed Howard towards the front of the store, muttering angrily, "Haven't they ever heard of a diaper?"

"Of course towels have a thread count, Mr. Sheets and Things!" shouted a familiar voice from the next isle. It was unmistakable: Sandy Ryerson.

Will tried to go around the corner and back towards the front entrance as silently as possible, hoping that Sandy was too busy ranting at the employee who was helping him to notice the professor, but he was wrong.

"William!" called the bald-headed former glee club ringleader, abandoning the guy trying to help him to walk up to Will.

"Sandy?" he asked, pretending to have just noticed him. "Hi!"

"Well, hello. How are things? I've heard you've taken over glee club."

"Um, yeah. I hope you're not too upset."

"Are you kidding?" said Sandy dramatically, making nearby shoppers stare at him. "Getting out of that swirling eddy of despair was the best thing to ever happen in my life! I'll be honest, it wasn't easy at first. Being dismissed, and for what I was accused of…my long-distance girlfriend in Cleveland nearly broke up with me…oh god, don't you love a good monkey?" he added, noticing a pillow with a cartoon monkey on it.

"Actually, Sandy, I wanted to ask you something…when you directed the glee club, did you ever go into that closet in the choir room?"

"Closet? What closet?"

"You know…the giant room? With the jet? And all those strange machines? Come on, you must know what I'm talking about. The door was unlocked."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Will," said Sandy.

Even though he hadn't used his powers for years now, Will naturally had a knack for knowing if a person was telling the truth based on the way they talked, the way their hands moved, whether their eyes seemed fearful or not. And he could tell that what Sandy was saying was genuinely true. Perhaps the former glee coach hadn't bothered to look in the closet.

"Nevermind, Sandy…in any case, I hope you weren't too depressed," he said. "Did your doctor put you on any meds or something?"

"Better—medical marijuana! It's genius!"

Will tilted his head. "Sorry?"

"I just tell my doctor I'm having a headache, and he gives me ALL OF IT I WANT! I'm finding the whole system quite lucrative."

"You're a…drug dealer now?"

"Oh, yeah. Made five times more than I did when I was a teacher. I keep some for myself, and I keep money baths in the rest."

"Who do you sell it to?"

"Oh, not a whole lot of people, though there's a certain football coach you may know who's one of my best customers! You want in?" From his pocket, he pulled out a small packet that said "CHRONIC LADY: For medical use only."

"Uh, no," said Will, chuckling nervously, remembering his own experiences with weed way back when and how it had made his telepathic abilities (which were being kept hidden by then) escalate briefly to the point where he could swear he heard the thoughts of everyone in the world and beyond. "I mean, I tried it in college, but Terri and I are trying to get pregnant—"

But Sandy wouldn't listen to him. "C'mon, Will, the first sample's free!" he insisted, stuffing the packet into Will's pocket, not even noticing Ms. Alder's letter that also occupied it. "You're the one coaching those tone-deaf acne factories, you're gonna need it! Just don't let any of them have it, drugs are supposed to do really wacked-up things to mutant powers."

Just then, the Sheets and Things employee came back with another towel.

"This looks like barf," Sandy said bluntly. "Looks like I have to do everything myself, Will. Call me!"

As Sandy directed the employee back towards the wall of towels, Will wisely decided that now would be a good time to leave. He was still more confused than ever about the giant room, and until he found out more about it, he wasn't going to let any of his students use it to train themselves. Secretly, though, he liked Rachel's idea, and he had to admit that there was a certain aura in the room, especially coming from the weird bowl-shaped device that he had found, that almost made him want to practice his powers again. But no, there was no point to it. Unlike his students, he had the option of hiding his abilities, which, good as this training idea was, would always be better than making his mutant attributes more prominent. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

…

"Hey, Sue," greeted Will, stepping into the cheerleading coach's office that was much bigger than his own.

"Call me Magneto, William," said Sue, in a less demanding voice than usual. She had her blue-tracksuit-covered back turned to him, as she was busy dusting off the massive wall of trophies behind her desk. The odd blue light in the office gleamed eerily off the back of her helmet.

"Sorry," he hastily apologized, looking around at the collection of fitness equipment—including a large treadmill—that also made up a great portion of the office space. "Could I have a second?"

Sue paused for a moment with her dusting. Then she turned around with a big grin plastered on her face. "Sure, buddy. Come on in."

…

Emma had been walking from her car in the parking lot to McKinley's main building when she felt the distinctive feeling that caused a look of horror to spread across her face. She knew what that squishy, slippery thing under her high-heeled bright yellow shoe was: a bright pink, chewed-up piece of gum that had most likely been in some dirty teenager's mouth not too long ago.

Her pulse racing, the red-haired guidance councilor scurried over to a nearby bench, where she lifted up her foot and tried to assess the situation. She would need to scrape the giant piece of gum off the bottom of her shoe with something, but just the thought of doing that put her in too much of a panic to even want to look at the disgusting thing.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar face and figure of Will Schuester walking towards her. This made her heart beat even faster, though not entirely out of panic.

"Hey, Emma, I—" His warm brown eyes narrowed as he saw the state she was in. "What is that, gum?"

Emma nodded vigorously, embarrassed to be seen by Will in a state like this but relieved that he was there to rescue her.

…

"So you want to talk to my Cheerios about joining Glee Club?" asked Sue with a sneer.

"We need them," explained Will, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the tiny chair in front of Sue's desk that he had squeezed in. The coach herself was seated in a looming black throne, trimmed in red and purple like the suit she wore during the Cheerio drills.

"Performers, that is," Will went on. "And your Cheerios definitely are some great performers. I mean, they already perform musical routines as it is, and there's no doubt they're well-disciplined under your coaching."

"William, I'm gonna stop you right there." Sue reached down under her desk and pulled out a huge jar of protein powder. "What you're doing right now is called blurring the lines. You see, high school is a caste system. The jocks and the popular kids, they're living up in the penthouse. The chess team sort, the invisibles, the kids playing live-action trolls and druids in the forest—bottom floor." As she spoke, she was pouring a few cups of the powder into the blender on her desk.

"And where do the Glee kids lie?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sub-basement," Sue answered bluntly. "But I'm sure you knew that already, Will, from your own days in Glee Club."

"Glee Club was popular back when I was a student at McKinley," said Will.

"Not anymore. Times have changed. No longer is singing and dancing to show tunes considered fashionable for today's youth. The fact that your whole club is made up of mutants doesn't help matters."

"We had several out mutants in the club 15 years ago, and they all managed to be the most loved and respected kids in the whole school," he said firmly. "I mean, I wasn't a mutant, but—"

"Really?" Her sharp eyes quickly scanned Will up and down, her jaw twitching slightly. "I'm not so sure about that."

…

"Magneto isn't wrong," Emma said carefully as Will scraped the gum off her shoe with his credit card, "but I don't think anything's set in stone. Kids are going to do what they think is cool, which is not necessarily who they are. You just need to get them out of boxes."

"And how do I do that?" asked Will.

"They follow the leader. You know, if you can just get one of the popular kids to sign up, or even just someone who's not a mutant, I'm sure the rest will fall right into place."

…

"I just want to talk to them," huffed Will, exhausted as he jogged around the field—a convenient place to work out, he had found, when the football team or the Cheerios weren't practicing. At the moment, Ken was riding on his golf cart beside him, eating a sandwich that looked ten times as good as Will normally would have thought, given that he was so tired and hungry.

"I don't know, man," said Ken. "I can't see any of my guys wanting to join Glee Club. They weren't happy with Hank becoming one of the Cheerios—that was before they saw one of Magneto's marching drills and thought it was just a run-of-the-mill squad—and they were furious when he had to join the Glee Club. Last week, they held him and shaved off his eyebrows just because he said that mutant girl was hot."

"You mean Rachel?"

"Yeah, her. The short annoying one."

"Look, all I'm asking for is an introduction," said Will.

"Fine," said Ken, revving up his golf cart and speeding away at a full 15 miles per hour. "But you better put in a good word with Emma for me, okay?"

…

Will got the last piece of bright pink gum off of Emma's shoe with a flourish. "There you go, Harley Quinn," he said with a smile.

Emma stared at him, confused.

"You've never heard of Harley Quinn?" he asked in disbelief. "The Joker's girlfriend?"

"I don't read comic books," she said kindly.

"Well, you should," said Will, sitting down next to her on the bench. "I just re-read Mad Love—that's the one-shot she was introduced in…well, after she first appeared in the animated series, that is."

"Hmm," said Emma, showing mild interest.

"I…I have a lot of trouble with these sorts of things," she said hesitantly as he slid the gum off underneath the bench seat. "The messy things."

Will nodded, only half-listening to her.

"It's really nice that you care about them, by the way," she continued, sliding a fraction of an inch closer to him. "About the kids. Not a lot of people are willing to go out of their way to make the lives of mutants easier."

"You care," said Will, looking up at her. "You do your best to guide them and make the right choices, whether they're a mutant or not."

"Yeah, but that's my job," said Emma, smiling gently. "You volunteered to take over Glee Club, despite all the challenges. That says a lot about you, Will. You really care about those kids."

…

"If you really care about these kids, you'll leave well enough alone," said Sue. She held up her hand-held blender, which was now filled with protein powder and water. "Children like to know where they stand. Those mutants are even worse because they truly have no place in society—all you can really do is put on a show of false stability within the social order, even if that means putting them at the bottom. The high school system already does that for you, as I explained earlier."

"So you're saying I shouldn't even have a club for them?" asked Will, raising an eyebrow and trying to hold his gaze against Sue's.

Her eyes flashed. "Let your kids have their little club, but don't pretend that they're something they're not." She pressed down on the blender lid, and Will watched as the contents swirled rapidly around the inside in a buzzing fury.

…

Coach Tanaka blew into his whistle. "Circle up!" he shouted.

The thirty-or-so football players that had gathered in the locker room seated themselves on the benches in front of the board where the coach drew his game strategies, or leaned up against the walls surrounding them. Among them were Finn and Puck, who stood near the back of the crowd.

"Professor Schuester is going to talk to you," announced Coach Tanaka. "You don't listen, you do laps. You mouth off, you do laps. Got it?" he added, looking straight at Puck, who responded with only a dull nod.

"Thanks, Ken," said Will, stepping forward and quickly looking around at the gorilla-like guys in front of him. "Hey, everyone. I recognize a few of you from Spanish class. But I'm here to talk to you about something different today: music."

He paused, waiting for some sort of reaction from the group. They all simply stared back at him with disinterest. The slight chance of hope he had been feeling was beginning to waver.

"Glee Club needs guys," he went on, "and I was wondering if any of you would be interested in joining."

Just then Puck raised his hand. "I can sing."

"You can?" asked Will, the feeling of hope returning.

"You want me to demonstrate?"

"Of course." Will grinned.

Puck's teammates cheered and whooped as he made his way to the front of the room, striding with confidence. Once he was at the front, he faced the students, cleared his throat, opened his mouth as though he were about to sing…and then loudly farted in Will's face.

The football team howled in laughter as Will covered his nose while Puck pointed to him, jeering, "OH YEAH!" in a perfect imitation of the Kool-Aid mascot. He then ran back to Finn and gave his friend a high-five. Coach Tanaka had to blow his whistle several times until the team finally calmed down from their laughter.

"I'm putting the sign-up sheet near the door," said Will, trying to keep his composure. "Hope some of you guys are still interested, and…um…thank you."

"Team dismissed!" shouted the coach. "Puck, see me in my office."

As the boys once again dispersed, Will glanced over at Ken. "Have you been sleeping okay?" he asked. "Your eyes look a little bloodshot."

"I got allergies," said Ken hastily. But as Will left, his eyes noticed the "CHRONIC LADY" packet in Ken's shorts pocket.

…

At the end of the week, Will checked the sign-up sheet in the locker room again. Three names were written on it: "Gaylord Weiner," "Butt Lunch," and "Penis."

He honestly thought it was the end of the very brief fever dream that had been New Directions. Forget Rachel's mutant training idea—the Glee Club itself was at stake. Will sighed; much as he hated to admit it, he was growing to love the idea of the kids learning how to control their powers and use them for good. He had convinced Rachel to rejoin New Directions as it was—just a show choir—but he knew she and the other four members would rather be practicing their abilities instead of sing-and-dance routines. Mercedes, Kurt, Artie, and Tina all acted as though they were opposed to Rachel's idea of exploiting their powers, but their constant glances towards the door to the giant room during practice did not go unnoticed by Will; they wanted the training just as badly as Rachel.

Just yesterday, after rehearsals, Will had phoned Terri that he would be home a little late and went back into the choir room "closet." He had examined the bowl-like device and the letter from Ms. Alder again—finding nothing new about them—as well as the other devices in the room: several sets of weights, the biggest one literally weighing a ton on each side; a set of keys that he found could unlock the jet in the room, though he was too cautious to go inside it; a pair of red sunglasses with lenses that seemed to make out of an unusual material, like quartz; and a GPS-like device not unlike the one hooked up to his car, except this one had maps for the moon, Mars, and the entire Milky Way star system as well as Earth. He had stuffed some of these devices into his satchel, which he carried with him now, to take home and study further.

In the background Will could hear water running in the shower part of the locker room, which was just down the hall. But just then it was interrupted by an abrupt shout, and the sound of wet feet stumbling around on the ground. Curious, Will walked towards the shower room and looked in.

For a moment, he couldn't believe what he saw: a naked Finn, stumbling blindly around the shower room, with a red beam shooting from his eyes and searing a hole in everything he looked at. Will could see the trail of where the beam had burned straight through the row of showers, where it quickly went down to the ground and zig-zagged all over where Finn was circling now. He clearly couldn't see, and he breathed rapidly in panic as he continued spinning circles and destroying the tile floor of the shower room.

Will tried to speak, to tell Finn to stop moving, but he found himself too shocked to form words. He needed to tell the boy to quit circling around the room before he hurt himself or did any more property damage. Will already knew what the solution was, but even in such an urgent situation he was hesitant to use it; it had been years since he used his telepathic powers and he wanted to keep it that way. But if that truly was the only was of communicating with Finn, then he had to use them. Besides, he told himself, Finn was the only person in the room, so communicating telepathically would bring no troubles of extra feedback from other minds that had plagued Will in his high school days, back when he attempted to control his powers.

The professor closed his eyes, put two fingers to his temple, and attempted to concentrate. His brain searched for a mental link with Finn's mind, and after a few misses, he finally felt a sort of click that meant he had reached it.

_Finn, don't move,_ he thought.

"Who's there?" Finn spun around and looked straight towards the doorway where the professor stood. Will jumped out of the way just in time; the laser from the boy's eyes burned a hole straight through the wall that Will had stood in front of moments before.

_Careful, Finn!_ he shouted urgently in his mind. _It's me, Professor Schuester. You have to be very, very careful where you look. Don't turn your head._

"But I can't see anything!" came Finn's voice from the shower room; he wasn't visible to Will now that he had stepped to the side of the doorway. "And your voice…it sounds different…it sounds like you're inside my mind!"

_That's because I'm talking to you telepathically,_ said Will._ I'm a mutant, Finn. It's a little strange, I know, but I can explain it to you later. Right now, there's a laser beam coming out of your eyes and it's damaging everything you look at._

"Oh my god, oh my god." Finn was clearly breathing heavily and rapidly, as Will could see the beam quivering slightly on the wall. "Professor, what's happening to me?"

_I don't know,_ said the professor. _But we can sort that out once we figure out how to block this laser beam. I suggest you look down at the ground again—but be careful not to look directly at your feet, you could burn yourself. And maybe try talking back to me just with your thoughts—focus on staying calm and breathing rather than speaking._

The laser moved away from the doorway, and Will stepped back into the shower room. Finn hadn't judged where he was looking correctly, since he apparently was blind with this laser in the way, and he indeed was looking straight down at his feet. But the optic beam didn't seem to be harming it in any way. Still, Will wasn't going to take any chances by allowing Finn to look directly at him and trail the laser directly at his chest.

_Professor Schuester, I think this has happened before,_ thought Finn. Will could hear other thoughts, much more panicked ones, in the back of Finn's mind, but he didn't dare try to look further at them. Even if he wanted to, he didn't think he was powerful enough to do so. _At the end of last year…I think I burned a hole in my locker—_

_And this would also explain what happened in Spanish class the other day,_ said Will. _By the way, Finn, if we ever do sort this out, you still need to pay for the damages done to the whiteboard._

_Will do, Professor Schue,_ said Finn. _But please, I can't see anything now…_

_Wait a second, Finn, I think I have a solution._ With trembling hands, Will opened up his satchel and pulled out the red sunglasses he had found in the giant room. _Now, keep your eyes down on that same spot, because I'm going to try to put these sunglasses on you without getting burned._

_Sunglasses?_ repeated Finn. _But if I really am burning holes in the walls, what makes you think a pair of sunglasses will do any—_

_I don't know, Finn, but it's worth a try. Besides, I don't think these are ordinary sunglasses._

Will stepped cautiously towards Finn, trying not to focus on the awkwardness of the fact that the boy was naked, having been in the shower, and the unfortunate implications that a mutant power—specifically, a reddish laser beam—appearing in that setting brought to this situation. But those kinds of dirty thoughts were reserved for screwed-up comic book creators and fanfiction writers, Will reminded himself.

Carefully he stood next to Finn and reached towards his face, sunglasses in hand. Trying to avoid the laser beam, which singed his coat sleeve, he gingerly pushed the glasses into place and found that the lenses were, indeed, blocking the blast coming from Finn's eyes.

"Professor, I can see now!" Finn shouted, forgetting to speak telepathically as Will set the glasses onto his ears and the bridge of his nose. His eyes spun around the room harmlessly now, a dopey grin on his face.

"Indeed, you can," said Will, stepping back. "But before we talk any further, I'll go out and let you put some clothes on."

"Oh, right," said Finn, his face glowing in embarrassment as he hastily reached for a towel.


	4. The Herd

Author Note: Sorry I haven't updated this in a while, guys! Been busy with school work and then summer travels, but glad to finally be writing again! Enjoy!

...

"How long have you known about this?" asked Professor Schuester.

"For…for a few months." Finn glanced nervously around his office, wishing that we were in a more open space and feeling stupider and stupider with those red sunglasses on. He knew he shouldn't have felt embarrassed with just Professor Schue in the room, but how long was I going to have to wear these? Until the laser stopped coming out of my eyes? He could tell by the burning sensation right behind my pupils that it hadn't stopped, and there was no telling how long it would last.

"If you'd like, I could help you explain this to your mother. You can't keep this a secret for long, you know."

"Oh man, please…please don't tell my mom," Finn begged. "I mean, I know I'll have to tell her eventually…I don't know how long I'll be wearing these glasses…but…but if I'm telling anyone, it's just her, no one else should find out about this—"

"Mutant powers are harder to hide than you think, Finn," said Professor Schuester. "Even the ones that aren't physically apparent can put a strain onto those who make an effort not to use them. The other mutants at McKinley are very open about their powers."

"Yeah, and you've seen what the other kids do to them," the student replied. "What…what I've sometimes done to them…"

"I think you can make a change to that, Finn. You're captain of the football team—you can convince the other guys that being a mutant isn't something to be ashamed of. You can even be proud of it."

"Yeah, like that'll happen," Finn muttered.

The professor sighed. "I know it's unrealistic, but…come on, Finn, take action. I expect a lot more from you."

I expect more from myself, too, thought Finn. He knew he looked confident on the outside, but really, he struggled with the same things that other kids do, like peer pressure, acne…and now, of course, this whole mutant crap.

Finn had to kind of figure out on my own what it meant to be a man and a good leader to people; he was still trying to figure it out. Finn never knew his father because he went off into the great unknown with a group of space pirates and never returned. Growing up, he and his mother were really close, but Finn could tell that being a single parent was hard on her. The only time he really saw his mom happy was when they splurged a bit and ordered Emerald Dreams, a lawn care company (and their lawn definitely needed care).

The guy they sent out to work for us was named Darren, and he was "a pretty cool dude," as Finn would call him. He had been in a Journey cover band when he was younger, and he hadn't completely gotten over his band's breaking up over a decade ago; he still had long, rockstar-like hair and an earring in one ear. But he was good to Carole Hudson, and he let ten-year-old Finn hang out with him and help him with his work. Finn remembered how he used to blast "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" out of the CD player in his Emerald Dreams truck while the two of them sprayed the lawn with chemicals and sang along, while Carole sat in a lawn chair behind them, drinking lemonade and tapping her foot to the music.

That was the first time Finn really "heard" music. It wasn't just a melody with lyrics to go along with it to him anymore. It had a soul and spirit to it, and Darren taught him all about that.

"You've got a voice, buddy," he would say. "With that voice, my band would still be together. Stick with it!"

But then Darren ran off with a girl he met at the local supermarket. Finn's mother took it really hard, to say the least; when she saw the two of them driving past our house in his truck, she threw a carton of milk after them and stood in the street with her face in her hands. It was at that moment that Finn knew he'd do whatever it took to make his mom proud of him, and to make sure she knew that all her sacrifices for him were worth it.

"You know what, Finn…I have an idea."

"Yes, sir?" asked Finn.

"You know about New Directions, right?"

"The Gay-I mean, Glee Club you started?"

"Yes, the Glee Club. And you might have noticed that most of the members we have are mutants. Actually, they're all mutants. Which is why, not too long ago, an idea was brought up in the group to make it sort of a…how do I put this…a secret mutant training club?"

"So…wait, does that mean you're training all of them to use their powers?" Finn asked, skeptical.

"Well, that's what was brought up, but I haven't initiated it yet. There are some things we've discovered in our choir room that I don't exactly want to talk about with someone who's not in the club, for fear of the consequences, but let's just say it'll make a mutant training academy disguised as a glee club possible within this school."

"So…what does that have to do with me?" the boy asked, confused.

Professor Schuester scratched his temple. "Well, I was unsure about the idea at first, don't get me wrong, but right now I think it's this club's only chance at success. I've been pondering it for a while, and I've realized that the one thing we'd really need to get some mutant training going would be for a student to take leadership within the club, to get the others motivated to both train to be mutants and pull off the act as a show choir for the rest of the school."

"And you're saying…I have to be that kid?" Finn shook his head. "No way, Professor…isn't there someone else you could pick? What about that Rachel chick?"

"I'm afraid Rachel might not be the best candidate. Her idea of show choir is her being the lead soloist while everyone else sways in the background, and I'm sure her idea of being a mutant superhero is her defeating the bad guys while the rest of the squad consists of sacrificial mooks."

"Wait, who said anything about a superhero team?"

"A bunch of the kids had the idea of using their powers to fight crime. I don't know how well that would work out, so for now we're just focusing on controlling their powers. And honestly, Finn, I think that's what you need right now, too."

"Okay, so…maybe I can be in the club until I learn how to control my laser?" Finn asked. "Is that okay?"

"I was hoping you would stay longer than that. However, I can't force you to be part of New Directions. I'm just saying that it would be beneficial to you and to everyone else within the club."

"Alright, then." The boy took a deep breath. "I'll do it."

…

"Oh my god, look at this place!" Finn practically bounded into the secret room where the strange mutant devices were kept, swinging around and taking everything in with boyish glee on his face. "How does this place even exist?"

"That's what we've been trying to figure out," said Professor Schuester, following Finn into the room along with the New Directions members. "We've found some very strange things in here – for starters, the airplane…"

Rachel, for once, stayed in the back of the group of kids; she didn't want anyone to see her gawking at Finn Hudson. It certainly wasn't the first time, since she tended to gawk at him whenever she wasn't complaining about the football team throwing slushies at her. Despite being the football team captain, it was clear to her that Finn was usually not the guy who initiated the attacks on various mutants throughout the school. That was often Puckerman's doing.

"Do you guys have a name for this place?" asked Finn, fixing his now-crimson gaze on the other mutants. (The professor had given a brief explanation of the red sunglasses that now adorned Finn's face, and how he still wasn't ready to tell most people of his mutant powers, so the club members should keep quiet, etc. etc.)

"A name?" echoed Kurt, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Why would we need a n-n-name?" asked Tina.

"You know, because we can't just call this place 'the training room' or 'the gym,'" said Finn, as though this were completely obvious. "It's more than just an ordinary training room or gym. It's got an AIRPLANE, can't you see? And machines specifically for mutant powers – things that would be dangerous for your average human but can be used as exercise machines for us. Maybe that's what we should call this place: the Danger Room."

Artie snorted. "Up until now I thought I was the nerdiest person here. Sorry, Finn, but that's something you'd find in an old comic book from the 1960's. It makes about as much sense as flying around in brightly-colored undies. If we truly want to keep this place secret and use it as our training room, we're going to have to call it 'the training room' or 'the gym' or some other generic name that won't attract attention."

"Now wait just a minute." Rachel skipped to the front of the group and stood beside Finn. She reached up to place her hand on his shoulder and then, realizing that he was more than a foot taller than her, stood on her tip-toes to do so. This resulted in a few giggles from the other kids.

"I think calling this place the Danger Room is a perfect idea," she continued, ignoring the others. "It shows the rest of the student body that we mean business. Even if we are just a glee club to them, we want to appear serious and competitive, and the Danger Room is a perfect name to go along with that. Besides, we don't really generate a lot of suspicion within this school as it is, so I think calling it something that's not generic will not raise too many eyebrows."

"Um, thanks," said Finn, smiling awkwardly at her.

Rachel was briefly caught up in the fact that he acknowledged her existence, and then mumbled a "no problem."

"Oh, hell to the no!" Mercedes stepped forward, holding her hand out in what would normally be considered a polite gesture, but Rachel knew better. She took a confused Finn's hand and pulled him a few steps backwards.

"One touch," snarled Mercedes, stepping closer to them. "One touch is all it takes, and your powers get absorbed into me. And if I hold contact long enough, the change is permanent. I'm not used to threatening people with it, but if you two are going to start forming some kind of allegiance against the rest of us…well, extreme measures sometimes have to be taken, don't they?"

"That's enough, Mercedes," said Professor Schuester, stopping her advancement by placing himself in front of her and…gently pushing her backwards? But her powers weren't affecting him at all! Then Rachel noticed the thick black gloves that the professor now wore on his hands.

"Are those resistant to her powers, Professor Schue?" asked Artie, marveling at the gloves.

"Indeed they are. I actually wasn't sure if they would work…but I found them yesterday in one of the boxes lining the walls of this room. I used a microscope—one I found here, luckily, because the science labs were locked for the day by then—and it turns out the microscopes here have computers built inside of them that explain all the material put under their lens. These gloves are a mixture of cloth and an alloy made of titanium, gold, and…omnium steel? There were also some strangely-named chemicals implanted into the cloth that I'll need to ask the chemistry teachers about later…but anyways, I put the gloves under a series of tests. I tried cutting them up with scissors, knives, even stabbing them with pencils a few times…then I put them on a stove, in an oven, put matches to them, tried as hard as I could to set them on fire. Nothing damaged them. I even put some forms of acid on them that should have dissolved normal gloves, but again, they received no damage. So they're virtually indestructible, highly durable, very flexible, and apparently impervious to certain mutant powers.

"Now, onto the topic at hand…there's no need to attack anyone over the name of this room, Mercedes. And Finn, Rachel, the Danger Room is an interesting name, but Artie has a point, and you have to realize that you're outnumbered. See, you guys are a team, and you have to learn to peacefully discuss these things instead of fighting battles against each other over it. It could have very bad consequences, especially since you all are mutants with little to no training of your powers and can easily do some serious damage to one another."

"Wise words, Professor," said Kurt, nodding. "So, what do you propose we do about this naming situation?"

"For now, call the room whatever you'd like," said the professor. "The Danger Room, the training room, the gym…if we start running into problems with the rest of the school by using the Danger Room, we're going to have to stop, but I'm thinking that's rather unlikely. But for now, let's show Finn some of the gadgets in here."

…

That evening, Will did the most exciting thing he'd done with his wife in a long time: helping her complete a puzzle.

"You usually don't let me in your craft room," he murmured, putting together the face of the farmer in "American Gothic" while looking around the room that Terri called "my hiding place."

"Isn't this fun?" she asked. "And challenging? Every Wednesday we're going to have Puzzle Night, because I know how important it is for you to have a creative outlet."

Will smiled and put together the last piece of the farmer's nose, then reached forward and held Terri's hand lovingly. She smiled back and then gently pulled it away.

"You know, the kids have been working so hard," he said. "I was thinking about taking them on a field trip next Saturday."

Terri blinked. She was no longer smiling.

"Carmel High is performing a showcase down in Akron. Carmel's going to be the team to beat at Regionals…and I was wondering if you might wanna come chaperone with me."

"On Saturday?" Terri asked with false surprise. "Oh, I can't."

"Oh," Will said softly, looking back down at the puzzle.

"I had to pick up an extra shift at work, Will." Her voice was suddenly bitter. "We're living paycheck to paycheck, you know."

"And how much of the paycheck goes to your Pottery Barn credit card?" he asked her slyly.

After a pause, Terri said, "I don't know what you're talking about," and glanced away.

Will sighed and got up from the table, heading over to the door at the back of the room.

"Don't go in the Christmas closet!" exclaimed Terri.

"I was looking for my jacket the other day," said Will, ignoring her and opening the closet up. He turned the light on and stepped back to reveal a wide array of items, from PB home decorations to towels from Sheets and Things, none of which he had bought. "C'mon, we can't afford this stuff, Terri."

"But we could, Will!" she argued.

He narrowed his eyes, wanting an explanation.

"Yes, I am a shoe-in," said Terri angrily, standing up and beginning to pace around the craft room, "to be promoted during the Christmas week at Sheets and Things! You know, I reek of management potential!"

Not really, Will said to himself.

"And they're hiring at HW Menken," she added to him, sounding anything but subtle.

"My passion is teaching, Terri!" he yelled, growing furious now as well. "For the last time, I don't want to be an accountant!"

"Dr. Phil said that people could change," snarled Terri. "You know it's not a bad thing to want a normal life, Will, AND TO WANT A GLUE GUN THAT WORKS!" She picked up the glue gun from her craft table and slammed it back down.

Will stood silently, unsure how to respond more than ever. She always wins, he thought. It's always her idea of a normal life that we have to live, not mine.

"It's really hard for me," she continued, now sounding on the verge of tears, "not having the things that I need."

"Oh-ho-ho!" exclaimed Will, all sympathy for her gone. "And you need three mahogany toilet brush holders?" He reached down into the Christmas closet and held one of them out for her to see.

"They're Balinese!" said Terri in defense. She charged up to him and grabbed the toilet brush holder from his hands. "It is not a bad thing to want things, Will."

And I want to be a teacher, so respect that, thought Will. He was sincerely glad that Terri couldn't read minds like he could.

"I understand your interest in these kids, Will, I really do," she said, her voice finally calming down. "Yeah. It's your way of recapturing your glory days. But I am not the high school cheerleader anymore, and you are not the golden boy. Look at you, having to hide the ability that you used to be so proud of, just to be accepted within society. Times have changed, Will. High school's over – for both of us. It's time that you move on."

…

YOU MUST BE TRAINED BY KEN TANAKA TO USE THIS SHREDDER

Emma was always fascinated by that sign in the teachers' lounge, because she never did see Ken use the shredder – until today. And even now, she was certain it was just an excuse for him to spy on Will Schuester in a threatening manner. She knew she was certainly spying on Will, though in a much less threatening manner; she looked way too much like a ginger bunny rabbit munching on celery for lunch to appear threatening to anyone.

At the moment, Will was pinning something to the bulletin board, his own lunch – an apple – hanging from his mouth. As soon as he walked away, and Emma was sure he was several yards down the hallway out of the teachers' lounge, she went up to investigate the paper he had put up:

NEW DIRECTIONS!

Is looking for chaperones.

Sign up below.

Below that were a series of lines for anyone to sign up. With no hesitation, Emma grabbed a pencil, gave it a quick wipe with a tissue, and wrote down her name, not even caring about the death stare she knew Ken was giving the back of her head.

…

Puck was busy using a freshman football player for target practice when he heard Coach Tanaka yelling at Finn.

Weird, he thought, staring at the two of them on the other side of the field. Finn normally was in Coach's good graces, and Puck was normally the one who got yelled at. What had Finn done to set him off?

As soon as Coach left, Puck ran up his friend. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Oh it's just…I just have to miss practice Saturday afternoon," said Finn casually. "Uh, my mom…I gotta help her cook and…do things…"

"Why?"

"She just had, uh, surgery."

"What kind of surgery?"

"Uh, well, she, um…had to have her…prostate…out."

"Man, that's a tough break."

"Yeah, it's, uh, engorged," Finn explained, as they heard Coach Sylvester yelling to her cheerleaders, "You think this is hard? I'm living with hepatitis, THAT'S HARD!"

…

Will was reading the newspaper in the teachers' lounge when suddenly it was ripped away from his hands.

"You stole my quarterback," Ken Tanaka growled in his face.

Will opened his mouth several times, trying to find words to explain to the bull of a coach, before finally saying, "Okay, look. Finn's got a great voice. He just wants to express himself!"

"You're screwing up my life," murmured Ken.

"Okay, Ken – you hate football. What's this really about?"

"Why should I tell you, Schue?" he asked defensively.

Should I or shouldn't I… thought Will. He knew the only way to find out what was up with Ken would be to search his mind, and though he was reluctant to use his powers again, Will realized that Ken could pose as a threat to the New Directions kids – if he took Finn, the entire club was toast.

So Will unlocked the imaginary radar in his head that picked up the thoughts and memories of the people around him and began to search the coach's mind. It was a good thing no one else was in the teachers' lounge at the moment; otherwise he would be overwhelmed with thoughts and wouldn't even get close to finding out what was Ken's problem. After getting past the extreme anger that was currently clouding up Ken's brain, Will stumbled upon a perfect little "package" of thoughts that currently resided on the surface of Ken's consciousness; Will recognized it as a memory and looked deeper into it. Soon an image filled his own mind and began to play like a movie; it was from Ken's viewpoint, and Will could recognize Emma, who was standing next to her car.

"Hey, Eminem," he heard Ken's voice say. "So, I got tickets to monster trucks this weekend. Lounge tickets."

"No thanks, not my thing," said Emma nervously, looking away from Ken as she meticulously cleaned the car's door handles.

"Truck-zilla versus Truck-asaurus, and get this – the trucks breath fire!"

"Ken…" Emma looked back up at him. "Look, you know how every time you ask me out, I tell you that I'm on my period?"

"Doesn't bother me."

"Or I tell you I suffer from cluster headaches, or I'm allergic to nighttime? Those things…" She gave him a frank smile and shook her head. "Not really true. I'm just not interesting in dating y- okay…" she said in her nervous voice again as Ken held out a finger against her lips.

"Shh," he said. "How do I get you…into my hatchback?"

"Okay, Ken, fine, make me say it. I like somebody else. Alright? Nothing I can do about it because…they aren't available so I have to deal with that."

Ken suddenly brought his hand to his face, licked it, and wiped it on the car door. Emma gasped and stood in shock as Ken slowly backed away and the memory faded.

Will saw all of this in a fraction of a second.

"You're right," Ken said presently. "I'm overreacting. The herd will take care of it."

"The herd?" asked Will.

"The student body. The second someone tries to rise above – be different – the herd pulls 'em back in." Ken turned to leave but then quickly swerved back, looking even more like an angry bull. "Oh, and by the way, thanks for putting in a good word for me with Emma, buddy. I guess you just want her for yourself, huh? Adios, amigo." The coach did a mock salute and stormed out of the teachers' lounge.


End file.
